


summer loving

by deniigiq



Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: M/M, foggy loves him anyways, heat - Freeform, matt is a drama queen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 02:09:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14033853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deniigiq/pseuds/deniigiq
Summary: July in particular was Matt’s kryptonite.





	summer loving

**Author's Note:**

> taking a break from the electric sheep series and feeling stupid homesick for SF/the Bay Area. The weather. The gays. My partner. I low-key hate England all the fucking time, ya'll. I'm trying, but this place makes itself so hard to love.

Throwing open all the windows and praying for a cross breeze had gotten Foggy through more New York summers than he could count. And even though he hated them and their special kind of heat which mandated suffering and multiple shirt-changes and sticky, always sticky thighs, over time he had developed a certain appreciation for summer’s gifts.

Namely, the gift that was Matt in peak bitch-mode.

Matt hated the heat with single-minded devotion. He was incapable of having a conversation, or Foggy would wager, even a thought, which did not somehow worm its way back to the fact that he was enduring unspeakable suffering during the period of late May to August.

And this was only the beginning. Foggy loved summer-Matt because the heat sapped Matt’s usual brain-to-mouth filter. Summer-Matt had no time for pleasantries or professionalism or Catholic repression. He was full of piss and vinegar and if you did exciting things like pressing cold soda cans to the back of his neck, he would lose his damn mind, grab the chosen torture device and hurl it as far away in the opposite direction as he could.

Evidently, he’d been holding himself back for many moons before Foggy knew about the senses. Now, he sent ice cubes and beer cans and a bottle of sunscreen careening through windows, with absolutely zero regard for the consequences. He broke a neighbor’s window once and was so unapologetic Foggy googled ‘how to know if your friend is possessed.’  

It wasn’t what he was looking for, but it was enlightening.

July in particular was Matt’s kryptonite. Matt in July barely got out of public view before he threw his jacket and tie off like they burned him. He started loosening them in doorways. If they didn’t live in the land of broken glass, tetanus, and hepatitis, Foggy was pretty sure Matt in July would shun any and all forms of footwear. Once they were off, he would only put on them back on under duress.

He’d rearrange furniture and displace rugs to find the optimal cold floor-space. He developed a scary sixth sense for windows and wrenched them open indiscriminately, sometimes ignoring their locks. He’d said things like “Satan would burn in this hellhole” or “I hate this fucking kitchen,” as if he wouldn’t throw himself off the balcony if a rat in Hell’s Kitchen so much as sneezed.

This year, Foggy had the added delight of watching Karen and Claire try to reconcile the pissy guy on the floor with the prim and proper lawyer who had graced their presence just two months ago.

Claire took Foggy up on the offer to dump ice water on him to see what he would do, and they were all rewarded with a display of Matt’s righteous indignation as he flinched, hissed at them and scuttled off to commandeer the cold spot behind the bed in Foggy’s room.

Foggy had to go drag him out from under the bed when Jess and Trish showed up to join them for cold salad and beer. Matt picked at both like a fifteen-year-old with an attitude problem before remembering that there were in fact other people there besides Foggy and he was embarrassing himself more than anyone else.

He endured five whole bites of salad and seven minutes of conversation before sagging all over Foggy to moan and mope about his impending heat-induced death.

Jess watched with an eyebrow arched as high as it could go.

“This is the weirdest kink, Nelson,” she announced. Foggy snorted.

“There is not enough money in the world to get me to fuck someone in this godforsaken weather,” July-Matt informed her bitterly.

Jess sipped her beer speculatively, “Not even if you didn’t have do anything, Murdock?”

“Not enough money,” he moaned from Foggy’s shoulder blade, somehow having managed to sprawl himself half over Foggy without leaving his own chair.

“How about justice?” Foggy bargained.

“Fuck your justice,” July-Matt retorted.

“Oh wow, he’s lost his damn mind,” Karen declared and stood up to get another beer. Foggy smiled after her.

 

 

They sent the ladies home with a promise for a repeat occurrence at Karen’s place the next week (Matt grumbling about the fact that Karen had carpet) and cleaned up the kitchen for a few minutes before Matt grabbed Foggy’s wrist and dragged him to the window next to the fire-escape.

He didn’t want to do anything, apparently, just wanted to sit and swelter with companionship. It was getting cooler as the sun set. They finally had a decent cross-breeze going to. It billowed the curtains occasionally.

Foggy reached over and ruffled his hair. Matt made a displeased noise but allowed it.

“I’m sorry this is such a shitty time for you, buddy,” Foggy told him, slowing the ruffling into petting. Matt leaned into his hand.

“It’s fine, its not your fault we live in a swamp.” Foggy smiled.

“Well, you know we could take a trip to get your mind off of it. I think Daredevil’s probably earned a vacation at this point.”

Foggy knew that every day Daredevil spent in the city, the harder it was for him to leave. But Matt made a contemplative noise.

“I’ve always wanted to go to San Francisco.” He held out a hand towards the fire escape, feeling the breeze through his fingers.

“San Francisco.” He tried to imagine Matt in San Francisco. Yeah, a hipster like him would fit right in.

“There’s gay people in San Francisco, Fogs.”

“There’s gay people in New York.”

“Yeah, but there’s gay people _and_ nice weather.”

“And how would you know that? You ever been?”

“No, but how about we compromise and take gay New York to nice weather in San Francisco.”

“Compromising, counsellor? The situation must be dire.”

“If I spend one more minute here, I think I might combust.”

“Attractive.”

“Only the best for you, Fogs.”

He ruffled Matt’s hair one more time with feeling and dropped his hand. Yeah, alright, San Francisco. Matt would be beautiful in San Francisco.

 


End file.
